Mourning Roses
by merick
Summary: Inspired by a banner image of a dew covered rose floating in a bowl, I put together a one shot of Jace and Clary, set in a different time. Forgive the inconsistencies with Cannon, as I have only just finished the first novel. I am certain that you recognize the scene that inspired the story. Thank you in advance for your time.


This is a take on Mortal Instruments, inspired by the City of Bones. I have taken three characters and placed them in a slightly different time and place. I have not read the series, only been inspired by the picture and a particular scene form the movie. Please forgive any inconsistencies, as my knowledge of cannon is not vast. I hope you may look past them to enjoy the story.

I've been watching her from the shadows for the last half hour or so; she hasn't left his side. It isn't as if he has suffered a mortal wound, far from it. Thrown from his mount he has, at worst, cracked a few ribs. He won't even have a scar. But here he lies, chest bandaged, eyes closed, stupefied by the healing herbs he has been given. If it were one of us we would perhaps be off training for a day, two at most if the fall had been accompanied by a hoof or horn. A mundane will take a week, a week of lost time, for him, and it, seems, for her. And that cannot happen, should not happen. She is too valuable and too untrained to lose a moment. She must learn to protect herself because I may not always be available to shepherd her: though her life right now means more than mine, and I shall always endeavor to see her safely through the fights to come. Right now though, I must give her the time she needs, she is new to us, and new to this world. There are many horrors to come, and if I will be the one to introduce her to them, then I must also be her refuge when they come to crush her spirit.

My name is Jace, at least that is what I am called here, for I have had many names. She is Clarissa, or Clary. The man in the bed (and I hesitate to use 'man' to describe him, for he is truly only a boy) is Simon, her friend, the one whom she would not leave behind when we brought her here to the castle. To give him credit he has asked to train with us, so he may yet be of use, but falling from your horse is not of use. My brothers and sisters in arms, and Clary, are what are called Shadowhunters, mortals whose blood is part angel, tasked with fighting the demons who invade our world, until our victory or our end. There have been a great many ends of late, and finding Clary has given us the first scant hope we have had in months of any type of victory. You see, Clary's mother; who has since vanished (more about that later) was the last of us in possession of a unique chalice, a cup that has the power to create a Shadowhunter, in a manner different than the normal process, of acquiring the talents through genetics. We are young now; most of us, and reproduction is not a pass time we can commit ourselves to when there are battles that loom. We haven't the time sadly. Life is lived in moments, not months, minutes, not hours, our task is encompassing, not that this has held back the heart; my heart.

I returned to the room we use for the sick and injured many hours later, not surprised to find her still sitting at his side, stylus in hand, fingers moving over a sheaf of paper. She draws out her dreams and then secrets them away. We all have our means to a semblance of calm and normalcy. Clary looked up at the noise I made as I crossed the stone floor to her, rolling the paper up before I could glance at what she had inscribed thereon.

"Clary. Come, you can't continue to sit here, you need to eat and you need to rest yourself."

"I don't feel right leaving him." Her eyes stayed on Simon, a hand reaching for him, caressing the blanket that lay over him.

"He will be fine, the healers are well skilled and within the castle walls our runes will protect him from harm." I tried to reassure her.

"But he needs me."

The way she looks at him, as if he is her lifeline, (and not the other way around) disquiets me, and I hate that feeling. Moreover I hate that it bothers me so.

"He needs you to be well and strong for what is to come." I try a different tack to convince her. (Not that is isn't the truth)

"But Jace?" Finally she let her gaze wander from him, beautiful wide eyes asking for my guarantee.

"I swear, just a few hours, it does you no good to sit here."

"A few hours?"

"Yes."

She returned her eyes to his supine form, his chest rising and falling easily.

"I suppose it will be alright." She concluded with a sigh.

I held out my hand and was glad when she took it and let me help her rise. Tucking her paper into her satchel she glanced back down at him then let me lead her away.

Night had fallen whilst she had been holding her vigil, and while I had had been making my preparations. The stars shone and the white marble of the fountain in the center of the gardened courtyard gleamed in the moonlight. The trickling water was the only sound, beyond our footfalls, to disturb the place, and in truth, one of our first lessons as a hunter was how to move like nature, so even those steps blended, hiding our approach from all but those who were similarly skilled.

"What have you done?" She asked of me in a quiet voice.

"Only prepared something to nourish your body, and perhaps your spirit."

I had set a small table beside the fountain, abutting the circular marble plinth. Atop it I had bread, and cheeses, a flagon of water and a platter of fruit. At the center of the table were an ancient brass bowl and a dipper of wood. I bid her sit and joined her.

"Have we told you the story of the fountain and its flowers?"

"No." She shook her head as she looked at both, keeping her voice low, as in a church. I appreciated her reverence for the place. It was sacred to many of us, me perhaps more than most as I spent a great deal of time meditating there, consulting the Nephilim and the Seraphim, (though I often wondered if my conversations were more one sided than a dialogue). In truth, they likely were. But the scrying bowl had given me some insight, if not any peace and so I had brought it for Clary. I took the wooden dipper and ladled up water into the bowl till it was nearly full. Then I reached into the fountain with my hand and carefully took up one of the roses therein and laid it gently to float within the brass.

"We call them mourning roses." I told her.

"They are beautiful."

"They bloom eternally for the ones we have lost."

"Oh." It was hardly a whisper, so quiet was she.

"The petals carry the water droplets like dew upon their surface to remind us that no matter how dark the night, the morning will always come."

"And they bloom without roots and soil?"

"They do, our power and the runes we carve sustain them in perpetuity."

"Until we are all gone."

"Yes, until we are all gone, but we will not let that happen. We have lived and fought for millennia, and we shall continue."

"But the histories in the library?" Of course she meant the tales of how our numbers were dwindling, how it seemed as if we fought a losing battle.

"As long as we keep hope in our hearts we will never be defeated Clary."

"I want to believe it."

"Then do."

She paused, I knew my words alone would not convince her to do so, but I hoped my actions might until such time as her trust in me was sufficient. I poured her a glass of water and bid her eat and drink.

"This place was built by the Nephilim," I told her, "one of many such refuges around the world. It was a place where we could train, find our strength, our peace and purpose, where we could hold our histories and celebrate our victories."

"And mourn our losses." She whispered.

"That as well." I conceded.

"Who do you have in the fountain Jace?"

"My parents, lost brothers and sisters. But I know that they have gone on to another place, a better place."

"And left us here, alone."

"We are not alone Clary, we have each other. And we will find your family." I wanted so much to reach out for her then, but she had drawn her arms up into her lap tightly, and let her head drop. Her mother had vanished from their home weeks before, no trace of her had been found, though we all suspected something sinister was at work; hence the reason we had gone to find her, and why now we sought to protect her.

I watched her eat a little in silence, and hoped to encourage her by doing the same. Our meal was simple, but at least she did eat as I ate. I wanted her to be nourished before I told her about the bowl. When she gave up on her plate I took up the story.

"Have you read about one of these before Clary?" I knew that she had spent a great deal of time in the library since her arrival, learning the runes and trying to understand our past, now her past.

"No."

"It is called a scrying bowl, and if you look within its depths it may show you what is to come."

"Do I want to know what is to come?"

"Would it not be better to have a glimpse, to be prepared, than to wander into the future unaware?"

"Perhaps."

"I have used it many times, and it has always done well by me, if that gives you any comfort?"

"It does Jace. What do I do?" She smiled, the first time I had seen that since Simon had had his accident. I wondered if there was more to it than just her friend's injuries; if the occurence had given her an even greater sense of her own mortality?

"Allow me."

I retrieved my own stylus from within my vest and began to trace the rune into my fingertips. It was a simple spell, a small symbol; I had done it so many times it hardly took any concentration on my part. I showed her the sign before I brushed it over the rose, and then around the inside rim of the bowl, imparting it to the water.

"Now look within and let your mind take you where it shall."

As she leaned forwards I leaned backwards and gave her the privacy she needed to let the Seraphim gift her their wisdom.

The last time I had used the bowl had been after her arrival, after we had found her and brought her to our place of safety, when my heart was disquieted and my insides upset. I worried that I had done wrong, misunderstood and brought some danger into our midst, and I sought reassurance for my decision. What I had been shown had not settled my heart greatly.

It had been Clary, before me, in my arms, my mouth pressed to hers, her hands wrapped around my back, the angel signs blending into her flesh as we clung together. And my heart had split wide open at the sight of it because I had felt such things stirring at the first sight of her, but had never hoped that such a thing would ever be granted me. The vision still haunted my dreams when I could not sleep. And it drove my actions in training her, and providing for her, not that I understood anything on her part to have reciprocated those covert desires. But of course, there was Simon, and the overwhelming situation she found herself in. Though as she had noted before, I had hope; I always had hope.

Her focus on the water, and the rose that floated within was dreamlike, I was glad for that. Had her brow been wrinkled and her jaw set I would have worried that she was being shown something terrible. Instead she seemed transfixed, her eyes softly taking in the sight, her lips gracefully parted for slow breaths. I could not help but be transfixed myself. I wondered what she was seeing but dared not ask.

She watched for a good few minutes before she shook her head and returned from wherever it was that the Seraphim had taken her. Her eyes remained downcast though, even though her breathing had sped up to its normal rate. I knew she was conscious of her surroundings and company, but for some reason known only to her she did not look up at me.

"Clary?" I was worried that I had misunderstood and that she truly had been shown something that had frightened her. "What has happened?"

"I don't understand." She whispered.

"What, what have you seen?"

She looked up, eyes wide once again, haunted, unfocused.

"I saw you." She said with no inflection.

"Me? What was I doing?" I felt a weight crash into the pit of my stomach. Had the angels shared with her the same vision they had given me, had it so frightened her, the notion of my touching her, that she was hiding within herself, afraid to meet my gaze, afraid to consider the ramifications of what she might have seen as an assault of her person?

"Nothing." She answered, not because she meant to avoid speaking it out loud but out of genuine recollection. "You weren't doing anything. You were just standing there, arms crossed, looking at me."

"Where was I?"

"In the library, in front of the arch."

The arch she mentioned was far more than just an architectural decoration, it was a passageway; not that she had been taught how to navigate it yet. It was a dangerous magic that thing, if you were to cross its threshold without training, without being able to direct your thoughts and focus on your destination you could end up in a terrible limbo from which escape was near impossible.

"Did I speak?" I begged her for more information.

"You seemed to be asking me to come to you, beckoning me to something, but I don't know what."

"Was I menacing?"

"I don't know."

Her lips began to quiver. I pushed my chair out of the way and went to her, whatever ghost of me had frightened her, I needed her to know that I meant her no harm, the physical me that stood before her meant just the opposite. Taking her hands in mine I brought them to my lips for some unknown reason and kissed them. I supposed I hoped that it would calm her. The tears continued to fall, but she did not pull her hands away, and in fact held me all the tighter.

"We don't know what it means." I whispered, "And you know I would never harm you, don't you Clary?"

She nodded.

"Good."

"I should go back inside I think." She mumbled, I could not argue with her, as much as I wanted to.

"Let me just replace the mourning rose, and I will ensure you safely returned to your room."

Again I carefully took up the rose in my two hands, kneeling this time before the fountain to return it to its mates (too many mates) in the slowly flowing waters. The rest of the water was tipped back in as well. I left the half eaten dinner and bowl to be collected later, I had a feeling that I would be doing very little sleeping that night anyways. She took my hand to stand and I held it, not against her wishes, allowing her to take the first steps. Though instead of retreating inside the castle she turned her eyes to the floating roses.

"Is my mother's rose here Jace?" Her voice faltered, it told me of her sorrow.

"I don't know Clary. I'm sorry, I sincerely hope it is not, and I will give you my company and hands to find her. But if we do not, I will mourn here with you."

"And will you hold me as I weep." She turned a red stained face up to me, eyes glimmering with tears, lips ruby with the salt that caressed them.

"I will." I whispered, and then stepped to her and I kissed her, I could do naught else. Her body folded against mine like a wilted flower, and I held her as close as a dared, grinding my lips against hers, fueled by my vision and her nearness. I thanked God silently that she did not pull away, but instead forced her mouth upon mine, parting her lips for me that I might venture within and taste her strength and sorrow, to somehow force that former to the foreground.

We both broke apart, panting at the ferocity of the kiss, eyes locked, and speaking for myself, uncertain of what to do next.

"Walk me to my room?" She asked, I was glad to do it, especially as she took my hand again, folding our fingers together.

It was far too short a walk by my estimation, for I was enjoying her touch and the path seemed as though it could have been so much longer, finding ourselves at her door long before I was willing to let her go. It seemed that she might have been thinking in the same manner as she held tightly to me. I leaned in to kiss her again, taking the sigh that slipped from her lips into my chest, understanding by it that she had no desire to leave my company just then either. Her smile, in between the kisses forged that understanding, at least until her room door opened and Simon stood looking at the both of us, disapproval in his eyes and voice.

"Clary? What are you doing?"

"Simon?' She stuttered, dropping my hand and pulling away from me with a start.

"I came looking for you when I woke up but you weren't here. You were with him?" His voice rose with the question as he glared at me. It seemed his estimation of me was nearly as positive as my estimation of him.

"His name is Jace." Clary defended me when I was at a loss for words. Apparently Simon could heal and had healed, at least sufficiently to be released from the healer's care. But why was he waiting in Clary's room? Had I misunderstood their relationship the entire time? Was she capable of such duplicity?

"Why are you?" He began to try to form the words to accuse her of something. "Why him?"

"Simon? It was just a kiss." She countered.

My heart cracked wide open and anger poured forth.

"Just a kiss?" I felt the venom on my tongue and it was foul. "Perhaps you should think more about inviting a man to your bed when there is already one there waiting!" I spit the words at her, my pride as wounded as my heart.

She wheeled on me.

"What? My bed?"

"Your lover waits for you Clary, you should go to him, apologize, soothe him."

Simon looked almost pleased at my outburst. I made to stalk off, but she grabbed my wrist, holding onto me tightly.

"No, don't, we need to talk, you don't understand." But I was having none of it. I pulled my arm away, hardly caring if I hurt her in the process so miserable was I. She turned her confusion, and anger on Simon.

"What are you doing in my room?"

"I was looking for you."

"You have no right to come in here."

"No right? You're my best friend Clary, I was worried about you, worried that one of these people would be trying to hurt you or corrupt you."

"That is none of your concern, I am not a little girl anymore!" I heard her yell, but I was already down the hall, on the way to my own quarters, rage clouding my vision, misery my chest. I slammed my door open and then slammed it shut again. Ripping off my shirt I tossed it away from me, it smelled of her and I could not stand it then, I felt as if I was going to be sick.

I hadn't expected the knock that came on my door, and I was in no mood to offer answer. She knocked again.

"Jace, please, let me in."

I remained silent, caught up in my own self-pity.

"Jace?" Her voice sounded more frantic all of a sudden. "Please?" I had to stand, and I had to go to the door, and I found my hand on the latch almost without the control of my mind. I closed my eyes tightly and grit my teeth before I swung it open and retreated back to my bed, sinking down on it, face to the wall, shoulders hanging.

"Please let me explain Jace?"

"He is your lover, what is there to explain?" I mumbled, half grief stricken, half angry.

"He is not my lover, and he will never be my lover."

"Does he know that?"

"He does now."

At that I looked up and turned to see her. Standing there, as miserable as I, God she was beautiful. And she was staring at me. I realized that she had never seen me without my leathers, she had never seen the rune scars upon my skin, nor the scars left by the demons. I watch her look them over, breathing slowly through her parted lips.

"Oh Jace."

I didn't want her pity, I just didn't know what I wanted in its place just then. She took a tentative step towards me; I did nothing to discourage it.

"Simon is something entirely different to me. He's my best friend." Her brows and voice rose as she spoke to me. "Jace, he's all I have left of my life. My life before all this." Motioning around with her hands she gestured to the castle walls, and I understood. She hardly needed to finish the thought though she did. "I lost my parents, my home, the life I had before I knew that all this, the Shadowhunters and the Nephilim and the Seraphs existed. I can't let that go, I can't let him go, not yet."

"So you will return to him this night?"

"No. He's gone to his own room. He can't spend the night in my room. That isn't what I want. And it isn't what I need."

"Then what do you need Clary?"

"Have you seen me in the scrying bowl Jace?" She answered my question with another.

I couldn't lie to her. I nodded.

"What was I doing?"

"What were we doing?" I whispered. She understood.

"Is that what you want?" She asked in the same voice.

"It is, forgive me Clary."

Every bit of her seemed to quiver then, and it seemed quite the task as she dug into her satchel and extracted the rolled up paper she had hidden away before. She held the scroll out to me with a downturned smile, and fear in her face. I took it and unrolled it.

The picture caught my breath and held it. She had drawn me. I was angelic; my eyes turned Heavenward, my hands clasped in prayer, it was beautiful.

"I want that too Jace." I couldn't believe I had heard her correctly, so transfixed was I with her drawing, on the sudden knowledge of her own desires. When her hand reached out to touch my face, to turn it up to look into hers I understood, finally. I had been a fool.

"I'm so sorry Clary, so sorry I didn't trust you, sorry that I didn't understand before."

"I didn't understand before either Jace. Not before your kiss."

"But you said?"

"I said the wrong thing, it wasn't just a kiss, it was everything."

I sprang to my feet, leaving the drawing behind on my coverlet, to take her in my arms and kiss her with such intensity it threatened to topple us both. I felt whole with her pressed to my chest, knowing, or at least believing that she could feel my heart beat. I slipped my hands into the band of her satchel and helped her guide it over her shoulders. It found a place of safety over the small table at the side of my bed. Even leaving her for that short amount of time I felt misery, and returning to her I dared to tease at the hem of her tunic, urging her to remove it, but not too quickly, so that I could run my fingertips over her bare, but still hidden skin. I was desperate, but so desperate as to miss the chance and excitement of that first exploration. She was soft; I had expected nothing less. Her skin was not scared like mine, nor pulled taut over her muscles. I knew it would come, but just then she was innocence in physical form. She quivered and I cursed a cold touch, but she forgave it, by bringing her hands to the sides of my face and cradling it carefully as she looked into my eyes, bringing her mouth to mine to kiss me again. I let my own lids drop and concentrated on the woman beneath my hands who was stealing my breath. It was she who pulled the tunic off over her head and tossed it away.

I wanted to stare at her, to pull away and see just what kind of beauty I had before me, but I would not do something so crass. Instead I guided her backwards so that she could sit on my bed, and then, hovering over her, bid her lay back. The whole while she kept her eyes locked to mine. I worried that she was hiding back fear and so I bent my head to her, and whispered into her ear.

"I will never hurt you Clary."

"I know." She answered.

"So you must tell me if I frighten you. I swear, on your slightest word, I will stop, and my heart will love you no less."

"Oh Jace." Her reply was punctuated by a delicate sob.

I reassured her by gently kissing her ear, then her cheek, then over her closed eyes, letting my mouth work downwards to her chin, then the column of her neck, to her breast bone. She lay still as I travelled, but did not shy away, and turned subtly to me to receive each touch. I hesitated; my lips pressed to her skin, feeling her pulse reverberate through me. I drew strength from it and let my hands join in the adoration. In truth I had no idea what I was doing, except attempting to not frighten or hurt her, it was near agony to hold myself back.

Touching her breast for the very first time she drew in a breath and I found myself holding mine. Cupped in my palm I held her, then moved gently, again kissing her. Feeling her yield to my touch only fed the desire I was trying to stem, I found my hips moving of their own accord, needing the outlet for the building excitement. Her moan made it all the worse.

"Please Clary, if this not what you want, you must tell me to stop now." I knew that I was nearly at a point beyond which I could not guarantee my control.

Her answer was the movement of her hands, down to her waist, to push her trousers away from her skin and down her legs. I was only too happy to assist her in that, tugging them away, exposing her completely. For a moment her hands searched for the edge of my coverlet, seemingly to cover herself, but again I whispered to her.

"You are so beautiful." And she relaxed.

I put my hands on her thighs and gently pushed them apart, bringing a warm breath to her hidden places, listening to the tentative moans that increased in intensity as I brought my mouth to her and took in her sweetness. Her cries were music to me, as was the strength of her body as she moved against me. I would not give her a respite despite the more frenzied actions of her hips, and I teased until she called out my name on a strained breath and collapsed onto the sheets, skin glistening, body quivering. I pulled away and watched her then, laying beside her and painting my fingertips over her belly. Only as her breaths slowed did she open her eyes, roll towards me, and then reach out to brush her palm over my leathers. I shuddered.

"Please?" She mouthed. It was more than I needed and I stripped them off, unashamed of her view of my body. I needed to be within her, and I could not wait. Laying out over her I rocked my hips, skin touching skin, brushing myself between her legs until I felt her relax, and only then did I guide myself inside. The only thing I could give her of myself, the only innocence I had left I surrendered to her on my own long, low, moan. Moving against her I found her meeting every thrust, first tentative then emboldened, then desperate. I found my peak and held against it as long as I could until it overtook me as an ocean wave and all sense departed but for the need, the love of her.

We lay together sharing shy kisses until she fell asleep in my arms, and I watched over her until sleep claimed me as well. Whatever was to come, I had the one assurance that we would face it together.


End file.
